Why,
Can't I,
Bare the truth?

It seems that the trees
Know more of my roots.

For outside,
Is safe,
To no worries or feuds.

But I,
Must hurry,

To a home with no hue.

mi casa es mi casa
i dream of family
slowly all pass

Lost childhood
a shattered snow globe on the floor
enchanting glitter and broken glass,
swirling in a mass, I find no cure.
Swept up the shards
that faintly jingled while being discarded
cut myself cleaning the mess
and it scarred
a surface of me that must stay hardened.

So independent
I can live on my own
don't know what is best
but it's better unknown.
I am shaped the way you had me sculpted
I've got a sharpness deep inside
here's the woman that has resulted
from a young girl's need to hide.

Mom
I brought a portrait photo of you
with me to art class
the teacher said
I looked just the same
everyone always told me I was like my dad
I was so happy to be beautiful, that day.

and I know you've said you don't understand poetry
so I'll say it easy
I love you so much
I hope you don't hate me
for what I used to be.
Forgive the broken snow globes
I have already forgiven the memories.

I don't want to be helpess anymore,
It was easier, I'll no longer ignore-
How I always asked your thoughts,
How I vented and never stopped.

The things I regret now feel more real,
I wish we just could've hung out;
Been normal friends,
but I was afraid to be myself.

I learned to stay down and not get up,
I'd pace my room in fantasies
Until I learned to que up
Validation felt like a drug

But now what I regret most
Is not giving you a hug,
Spilling my every thought,
And betraying you

Now you're gone

I am the offspring chosen to face our past
My grandparents could not cry and their parents could not grieve
Their gardens were empty and their stomachs were knotted
The twist so tight they sank into the ground while the walls rotted

Goodbyes were stolen, identities not built
Time spent living lives not truly felt
Generations before me, beneath me
They have chosen to lay in rest

But the burden does not remain away
Instead it sits with me
It is by my parents blinded rage or my grandma's quiet disapproval
That their uneasiness in their agnony is all of ours to feel

You see, this pain it demands to be seen
It engulfs the children, the lovers, and the sea
Embracing a storm trapping us into repeated beliefs

Legacy blinded by grief has no room to grow until we shed the layers of our mothers forgotten tears,
She was not allowed to cry but I shield her from uncertainty, the world is senseless but I sacrifice charting this land unsighted
Feeling this pain that has drowned generations before engulfs my existence


I scream into the dirt as I break us from this loop of silent agreement where survival is key
I bawl to my blood what they did to you was not moral and the lost mourns have been freed
Because I will always remember what couldn’t be seen is etched in our veins,
Our families blood is my blood that remains


My eyes may sting with ghost but I swore of an existence leaving the world less scorned,
My touch vigilant of the surfaces it reaches,
I welcome my future kin and sing him a story that there is a life worth living and it will forever be freed

(Is there an emotion for mystical? I suppose it would be to be mystified. Perhaps awe is the word I am looking for.  I was in awe at the sight of him! I was beyond mystified!)

It started in the Yellow Wastelands.  Where life went to die.  As life dies there, they become a part of the Yellow Wasteland adding to his spread and growth becoming a sort of crystalline lattice.  All go willingly to the crystalline whisper. The whisper in recent theory emanates from the shining yellow crystals that grow among the Yellow Wasteland like blue bonnets in the Texas spring.  Once the Whisper is heard the victim willingly partakes in what we call The March. The March is a mindless saunter to The Yellow Wasteland where upon arrival they lay in the yellow dirt and slowly begin crystalizing. We have tried stopping The March. But have been unsuccessful for many years.  During the state of the march the victim gains a strange, extraordinary ability to control others as they see fit. If one or a group of people, try and prevent the march they will be controlled by the whisper to put the victim back on track.  The final equation that we cannot solve is why one hears the whisper.  There seems to be no pattern whatsoever.

On this day my daughter heard the whisper. We walked with her for hours on end.  My wife and son followed shortly behind whilst I walked beside her talking about memories and music.  My son then caught up and started to play his lute. He played song after song and sang beautiful lyrics that they wrote together.  My wife would then catch up to fix our daughters hair and clean her face as we walked and walked toward The Yellow Wasteland.  There were times where we would walk all together in a line and pray and pray.  

Over the Wolf's crossing trail was a hill. The hill was now called.
" The Last Ascend."    The Yellow Wasteland can be seen below.  We started the ascend up the last ascend.  Tears flooded all our eyes as we were powerless to stop The March.